


The Quiet World

by Exploding_Space



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Based on a Poem, Fluff, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, a lil angst if you squint really hard, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 20:27:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3868699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exploding_Space/pseuds/Exploding_Space
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where every person is allowed to speak only one hundred and sixty-seven words per day, no more, long distance relationships are hard. Dean and Castiel still make it work.</p><p>Based on the poem "The Quiet World" by Jeffrey McDaniel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Quiet World

**Author's Note:**

> Helloa dear people! This OS is based on the poem "The Quiet World" by Jeffrey McDaniel. I got the idea from this tweet https://twitter.com/piningdean/status/594818579628851201 - so thank you @piningdean for requesting a fic and for introducing me to the poem, it's lovely.
> 
> I tried a different writing style with this one, to match the poem a little - I hope you guys like it. And now enjoy :)

 

 

**The Quiet World**  
_Jeffrey McDaniel_

In an effort to get people to look  
into each other’s eyes more,  
and also to appease the mutes,  
the government has decided  
to allot each person exactly one hundred  
and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it to my ear  
without saying hello. In the restaurant  
I point at chicken noodle soup.  
I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover,  
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.  
I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn’t respond,  
I know she’s used up all her words,  
so I slowly whisper I love you  
thirty-two and a third times.  
After that, we just sit on the line  
and listen to each other breathe.

 

*****  


Castiel has gotten used to it.

At first it was hard, it was almost impossible. When the law was enforced, some people were outraged, but most were in favor of trying. Everyone had forgotten what it meant to truly speak to one another, to stare into each other's eyes. All anybody ever did was talk, talk, talk, without listening, not even to one’s own words.

Furthermore, the mute had no way to communicate with the rest of the world anymore, because looking up had become such a rarity that nobody, no nothing, was seen anymore.

So when it was decided that nobody was to speak more than one hundred and sixty-seven words per day, it was not easy. Regardless, it was efficient, exhilarating, life changing.  
  
At least most of the time.  
  
People started looking into each other's eyes more, communicating with their whole body, and they began to learn more about each other than they ever knew existed.  
  
Now, there is no more chit-chat, no words left on meaningless hello’s and goodbye’s.

It is a crazy concept, but it is working. Most people are happy.  
  
Castiel is not dissatisfied, either. Every single word he speaks holds so much more meaning now; every time he hears someone speak he listens with rapt attention. Words are precious, they are a gift, a present you give someone who is truly important to you, and who values them in turn.  
  
Like Dean.  
  
If it were up to Castiel, he would use every single one of his one hundred and sixty-seven words on Dean, every day, for the next ninety-one days.  
  
He has to wait the absurdly long period of time that is ninety-one days until he can see Dean again. Finally stare into those beautiful green eyes again, touch his warm skin, let his smell seep into his own skin and feel Dean’s breaths rattle his own body.  
  
As it is, he can only dream of it, of him. And miss Dean. God, he misses him so much. Sometimes he wonders if it is possible to go crazy from all the longing. Maybe he has gone mad already.  
  
Nevertheless, he has a job to do – he has volunteered to teach children, whose parents cannot afford to send them to school, for free for four months, and it is truly a blessing to see them so eager to learn and experience the world. But teaching is hard with the limited amount of words he can use. It works, of course it does, but sometimes he has to speak so much.  
  
With every remark he makes, he feels a warmth grip him, for the children understand how important it is for them to listen, and the attentiveness they offer him is something he will never take for granted. And yet, every time he opens his mouth he feels a pang, feels his heart give a slight, painful lurch, for it is one less word he can say to Dean.  
  
They speak once a day, at night. The positive thing about being on the other end of the world is that the time difference is so great that 11 p.m. for Dean means 5 p.m. the next day for him. It isn’t perfect, but it works. He is always looking forward to hearing from him – even just to hear him breathe.  
  
That particular day, a tuesday, has been quite trying, and he just couldn’t save a single word for Dean, even though he tried, so hard. His heart feels heavy. But the kids needed all of his one hundred and sixty-seven words. It has been such a long day.

He is exhausted.

When he finally gets home, he makes a beeline for his bed and unceremoniously sits down, shoulders slightly slumped. He pulls out his phone, all the while feeling a twisting in his stomach; it’s partly a painful sadness that is gripping him, the feeling that he has failed Dean because he won't be able to offer him any words, the other part a nervous sort of excitement – the same kind he feels every single day when it is finally time to call his love.  
  
The phone rings only once, and then Dean is breathing down the line, thousands of miles away from him, yet directly into his ear and somehow, it is so tangible that it feels as if he touches his soul with every soft breath he takes and exhales.  
  
Castiel closes his eyes to savor the moment, like he does every day. He doesn’t know what it is exactly about hearing Dean breathe that makes his hands shake and his throat feel raw, day after day, but he never wants it to stop. At the same time he yearns to make it stop, to finally be near him again, to touch him, taste him, feel him. Again and again and again.  
  
Castiel heaves a small sigh, mostly filled with happiness at having Dean _right there_ , even though he is not, and it seems to be enough to prompt Dean to speak.  
  
"I only used fifty-eight today.”  
  
His voice is rough, deep, yet warm; he sounds so proud, so satisfied, so happy. It sends heat coursing through Castiel's body, as if struck by lightning, as if electricity is racing through his veins.  
  
If only he could hear Dean's voice more often, even more than one hundred and sixty-seven times a day. But he knows he can't. He wishes Dean would use longer words, just so he can relish not only what he says, but the sound of his voice, too. However, he doesn’t want Dean to ever change a single thing about himself, especially not the precious words he deigns to grace Castiel with. He is grateful for every single one.

“I saved the rest for you,” he continues, and the smile on his face is so evident in his voice that Castiel has no trouble at all picturing it in perfect detail. Even the many freckles dotting his face take form in his mind.  
  
Silence follows Dean's statement. Castiel wishes he could answer him, but he doesn't even have one left to tell him that he used up all of his, or that he appreciates it, so much. He clenches his teeth to match the sudden clenching of his heart. His stomach ties itself in knots, over and over again, and his eyes start to burn. The only thing he can do is breathe down the line, hoping Dean understands. Understands that he can't respond, understands that it is not because he doesn't value him, doesn't desperately want to save every breath for Dean.

He knows Dean had a hard life, that he grew up without a mother and with a father who never told him that he loved him, not once, and all Castiel wants is to show him that he _is_ loved, loved so desperately and blindingly that it makes Cas dizzy at times.  
  
Dean deserves only the best, and Castiel cannot offer him a single word. The ache in his body spreads from his heart up to the tips of his fingers. He is such a failure.  
  
But Dean, bright, beautiful Dean, who loves so fiercely without ever expecting anything in return, doesn't sound angry or disappointed when he murmurs a soft "Castiel". It sounds fond, as if he wants to express that he not only understands, but loves him all the more because of it – for giving his all to those children without thinking of himself for a second.  
  
It makes Castiel instantly feel better. Of course Dean understands. He has always understood him, the distance does not change that.  
  
If only he could hear Dean say his name more often. It's such a waste of words, to say one's name, and yet, illogically, like so often with Dean, he longs for it. He never said so out loud, it’s such a selfish thought after all, but Dean seems to understand and not care about losing his words, as long as he can make Castiel happy.  
  
It is quiet again, save for their soft breathing.  
  
Castiel can feel himself smiling and doesn't remember when his lips turned up.  
  
Dean takes a breath that is slightly deeper than the previous ones, and Castiel knows that he is about to talk. He thinks maybe he’ll tell him about his day. Maybe he met up with Charlie, like he told him that he did last week. Or went over to Sam’s for dinner. Maybe they went to the Roadhouse. Or perhaps he has been tinkering on his beloved Impala again. Dean has so many words left, he could easily talk about himself, give him a rundown of his day – but that is not what happens.  
  
"I love you," he says softly, his voice brimming with emotions that make tears gather in Cas' eyes.  
  
"I love you," he repeats, once, twice, a third time.  
  
Castiel lies down on his bed, eyes closed, and feels weightless.  
  
"I love you," is whispered, proclaimed, thirty-two times. Castiel doesn't think, doesn't move, just lets wave after wave of emotion wash over him, drag him under, lift him up.  
  
The last "I love you" is delivered with a slight tremble in Dean’s voice. So slight, in fact, that if Castiel wasn't used to cherishing every word, and more so if it’s said by Dean, and even more so in those quiet moments they share every day, that he wouldn't have caught it. Somehow, it has the biggest impact, it cuts him raw, makes his heart jump a beat just to triple its efforts.

So many words, so many proclamations of Dean’s love, too many and not enough.  
  
Castiel is so undeserving of it, but instead of feeling bad, or inferior, it makes him want to better himself, to be the best version of himself that he can possibly be. As long as Dean is at his side, he can do anything.  
  
He takes a shuddering breath and hears Dean take a deep one in response.

After that, they continue listening to each other breathe. The tranquility of those moments always grips Castiel, makes him keenly aware of Dean; everything fades away, even the distance, and all that is left is their breaths mingling, dancing and soaring over the phone.  
  
For the following day Cas wants to save as many words as possible for Dean. At the very least, he will give Dean three words, reserved just for him.

Castiel doesn't know how much time passes, but he can hear Dean's breathing evening out. He wishes him sweet dreams in his mind, and hopes the sentiment somehow reaches him.

Dean surprises him when he speaks up one last time for the day, using the one word he has left.

"Cas."  
  
The sleepy way in which it is mumbled, drawn out slightly, makes Cas chuckle, while he once again marvels at the fact that Dean is possibly the only person in existence who uses his valuable words to say someone's name, his name. In response, Dean sighs happily.  
  
Castiel goes to sleep hours later, still wearing a smile. He dreams, like so often, of green eyes, freckles and laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)  
> I know it's short and more or less just the plot of the poem, but I hope you enjoyed it nevertheless!


End file.
